


Two years later

by Loftec



Series: Book & Movie AUs [7]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, MIB AU, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 02:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18043349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loftec/pseuds/Loftec
Summary: An R-rated DVD extra followingMIB Chicago, as promised.





	Two years later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_rat_wins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rat_wins/gifts).



> For Laura, again. How many times can I do this before it gets weird? (And how much tentacle sex can I include before this gets _really_ weird?)

.

 

December 2013

 

“Richard Branson?”

Kay scoffs and shakes his head, absently opening the door of a cabinet to have a peek at the medical equipment inside. “Bet he’d love that, but no.”

Lounging on one of the steel beds, Jay blinks up at the ceiling in thought.

“Rutger Hauer?”

“Yes,” Kay says and turns to point at him.

“Really?”

“Pretty sure,” Kay hums, turning back to close the cabinet again. “Bee told me, think he said he’s from the Castor system, somewhere. The UFOlogists would call him a Nordic, completely missing the mark as usual.”

Jay takes a moment to let that sink in, and consider if he’s up for a Blade Runner rewatch when he gets home tonight. That is, _if_ he gets home tonight.

Crossing his ankles, he sighs at the ceiling.

“Stephen Colbert?”

Kay opens his mouth to answer, but is interrupted by a stretcher being pushed through the double swing doors to the morgue. Quickly sitting up and getting on his feet, Jay straightens his suit jacket and pulls out his fake ID as the EMT’s come into view.

“Incoming,” one of them says, and of fucking course, it just has to be _them_. 

“Great,” Kay says, getting their attention, “we’ll take it from here.”

The lady looks confused, and Ian’s grip on the stretcher’s handle is going white, even though his blank expression reveals nothing.

No spark of annoyance, no recognition. Nothing.

“Who are you?” his partner asks, eying Kay suspiciously before turning to Jay.

“Agent Milkovich and Agent Krustofsky, FBI,” Jay says, flashing his badge at the EMT’s just long enough for them not to see anything, before pocketing it again. “We’re here to do a quick examination of your limp friend here, see if she’s got something we’ve been looking for.”

Jay isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to this, not existing. Not being remembered. But if Ian and his partner _had_ remembered him, they probably wouldn’t be pushing their deceased patient through the room to line her up next to her new friends, no questions asked. They’d be running the other way screaming. 

On balance, guess he prefers not existing. Most of the time.

“Krustofsky?” Kay asks him in a low mutter as they follow the EMT’s.

“Krusty the Clown, man,” Jay says and can’t help smirking when his partner shoots him a displeased look. Shrugging and snapping on a pair of latex gloves, Jay steps up to the stretcher. “Tell me your real name or stop bitching about me taking creative liberties.”

“You know my real name,” Kay sourly points out, coming up on the other side of the stretcher. “It’s Kay.”

“Uh-huh,” Jay allows him to get away with it this time, turning to raise his eyebrows at Ian who is staring at them from the foot of the metal slab. “You mind?”

He could just zip open the bag himself, but it brings him some kind of untold pleasure to watch Ian glance around at the others before blankly meeting his eyes again.

“Sorry?”

“The bag, Highlander,” Jay prompts him impatiently, holding up his gloved hands and pointedly eyeing the body bag.

“Oh.”

Forcing his eyes off Ian’s focused profile to stare at his hands instead (only an ostensible improvement), Jay does his best to ignore how fine his long fingers look as they carefully pull down the zipper to reveal a pale, still face.

He knows it’s just a shell, but she looks real and it’s still jarring to see her lifeless eyes staring up at the same ceiling tiles he just spent the last five minutes counting. Pushing any discomfort aside, he gently feels along her jawline with his fingertips, until he feels the soft click of a switch releasing behind her right ear.

The hatch in her chest pops open, only to reveal an empty cockpit.

“What the hell?” Ian’s partner gasps behind him, which Jay ignores as he leans forward to properly survey the abandoned interior. “Oh my god, what the hell?”

“Empty,” Jay observes out loud, straightening back up to look over at Kay as he nods grimly. “Like we thought. Slippery son of a bitch got away again.”

“Who got away?” Ian asks, and his eyes dart quickly between him and Kay when Jay turns around to glare suspiciously at him. 

He never seems all that surprised by any of this – which makes sense considering that every time is his first time – and it’s becoming more and more remarkable every time it happens. Jay can’t help wonder what he’d have to do to throw the guy off his unflappable nature. What would he say if he sat him down and told him everything he knows, everything he’s seen? What would he do if he knew about all the times they’ve met before, and what Jay has had to do in order to remain forgotten?

“What is this, anyway?” Ian asks, still infuriatingly clueless. “Some kinda prank?”

Jay feels himself relax a little. A lot of people do react like this. They don’t understand what they’re seeing, assume it’s somehow a joke or fake, and decide to act cool until it’s over, just in case there’s a camera team lurking somewhere around a corner.

“Yeah, you’re on fucking Punk’d, dude,” he snarks, taking out the memory eraser as he puts on his shades. “Smile for the camera.”

Quickly checking that Kay is protected, he detonates the flash before once more hiding the stick away in his lining pocket.

“Guess what?” he says, not missing the way Ian seems to tense up when he claps his hands together. “The lady is dead, which you knew, and you brought her here, to the morgue, for someone else to take over. Which you have.”

Raising his eyebrows expectantly, he waits for the dazed EMT’s to react in some way. Ian throws a quick glance at his partner, before his eyes dart back to Jay.

“Which means you’ve got jack shit left to do here, if you could kindly fuck off,” he continues when they don’t get there themselves, waving impatiently at them to scram as he reminds them to forget. “You ain’t seen us, we don’t exist.”

***

“Do you think she’s alive?” Kay asks as they leave the morgue, stepping out into the sharp afternoon sun.

“Don’t doubt it for a second,” Jay mutters, taking out a cigarette and turning out of the cold breeze to light it up. Spotting Ian and his partner down the street as they’re returning to their ambulance, he shrugs and looks back at Kay. “Probably skipped out before they bagged her, someone must’ve tipped her off.”

“How so?”

He’s probably gonna get shit for this one, but whatever. Not like he should be ashamed for being observant.

“Jewelry, bling,” he says around the cigarette, holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers when Kay looks at him blankly. “Rings, that uncomfortable-lookin’ fucking collar I’ve never seen her without before–”

“It’s a satin choker with a crystal pendant,” Kay says, widening his eyes defensively when Jay stares at him. “What? I know things.”

“Sure,” Jay lets it go. “Point is she packed her shit, she knew what was coming.”

“So she could be anywhere, and _anyone_ , at this point,” Kay concludes and clicks his tongue, leading the way over to the car. “Great, back to square one.”

“Yeah–,” Jay starts, trailing off when he spots a woman turning a corner and heading their way.

Hands casually in her pockets, and her face mostly obscured by the brim of a baseball cap as she walks with her eyes on the ground, she’s already triggering several of his internal alarm bells. They quickly turn into a whole glockenspiel when she looks up and stops dead in her tracks at the sight of them, the pendant on her goddamn dressed-up dog collar swinging and glinting in the sun.

He has time to wonder if she really could be _that_ stupid, before he throws away his cigarette and reacts on pure instinct.

“10-80 fuckin’ Foxtrot!” he shouts, already running at full speed toward the woman when she turns on her heels and books it, confirming his suspicions. 

“10-what?” he hears Kay’s bewildered voice behind him, but he doesn’t stop to check if his partner follows before he rounds a corner and picks up his pace, seeing his target weaving through the foot traffic down the street.

She’s fast, and technically able to outrun him considering the whole being-a-machine thing, but she’s wearing heels and she obviously doesn’t have the same local knowledge as him, making another abrupt left turn.

Slowing down to a jog, Jay takes out his Noisy Cricket as he follows her into the narrow, dead-end street.

“Alright Nikita, game over,” he pants, focusing all his remaining energy to control his breathing and steady his hands as he trains his gun square on his target’s back. “Hands the fuck up, turn around.”

Raising her hands up to bracket her head, she slowly turns to face him. She’s traded in for a younger model, but the structure of her face bears some uncanny resemblance to her previous shape. It’s the same sharp eyes and stern mouth.

“You think you have won, yes?” she smirks, and Jay can’t help rolling his eyes at her still insisting on the Russian act.

“Drop the accent, comrade,” he says, flicking his gun at her. “You won’t need it where you’re going.”

“Ignorant Terran pig,” she practically spits, her villainous self-confidence dropped for a second as her eyes blaze indignantly. “You think this planet is only planet, and your baby language is only language. I speak my Queen’s accent, our ancestors landed in Gnezdovo centuries before your people even dared to cross your own oceans.”

“Do I look like I fucking care?” Jay complains, raising his gun with an inch to remind her of its presence. “You’re under arrest, Yev-gen-whatever you call yourself now. I’d read you your rights but, oh–, yeah, that’s right. You ain’t got none, you illegal piece of extra shit.”

Her eyes darken as he speaks, and he should’ve taken the shot right then and there if he wasn’t so damned soft in the head to think he could bank on the peaceful surrender of an alien killer.

“My name is Svetlana Yevgenivna,” she says, lifting her chin proudly. “You will remember it.”

Jay is about to disagree, and maybe argue the intelligence of acting like you’ve won when you’ve got the barrel of a sonic blaster pointing at your chest, when she suddenly springs at him and his whole world is plunged into a complete and sticky darkness, muffling the high pitched blast of his weapon.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but blinking up at the pale blue sky framed by the red brick buildings boxing in the dead-end street, Jay finds out that he can’t even so much as turn his head when he hears the distant screech of tires on asphalt followed by the quick footsteps of his partner.

“Jay,” the voice echos between the brick, getting closer. “Jay!”

Trying to tell him he’s fine, Jay quickly has to come to terms with the fact that he really _isn’t_. He can’t move his lips, and he can barely feel his tongue struggling to form itself around a sound, any sound at all.

Following him with his eyes as his partner comes to his side, kneeling down on the dirty ground, Jay tries his best to communicate through creative blinking instead.

“Oh thank fuck,” Kay sighs, looking him over. “What happened?”

Jay blinks harder, hoping that the cursing translates loud and clear.

“You got slimed, partner,” Kay says, taking out a probe to dig it through the sticky puddle pooling on his chest. _Sticky_ , he can feel it now. His mouth twists in disgust.

“Hey, there you are!” Kay grins, pointing at his face as the probe spins and whirrs, analyzing the goop. “Looks like some kind of temporary paralysis.”

“Got the jump on me,” Jay manages to force out, his words slurred but recognizable. His fingers wiggle when he puts some effort into it, maybe he can sit up if he really tries.

“Don’t push it,” Kay warns him, placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him still when he struggles to get off his back.

“Fuck you,” Jay agrees, resting back down on the ground and regrouping his efforts to tackle something smaller. One arm. One arm so he can punch whoever’s closest.

“The fuck kept you?” he grits out, successfully closing his hand into a decently workable fist.

“How many times do I gotta tell you, kid?” Kay mutters, staring at the screen in his hand, still working out the result. “We’re not the police. You gotta stop that 10-whatever nonsense.”

Working his jaw against the insistent prickle rushing through his skin, slowly waking up, Jay decides to save his partner’s face and his own strength for later, when he isn’t lying helpless on his back like a stunned turtle.

“The codes are protocol now, like it or not,” he decides to distract himself by bitching about the first best thing. He still has to focus to make his mouth shape correctly around the words. “I’m gonna use them until you learn them, old man.” 

Kay sucks at his teeth disapprovingly. “You’ve been spending too much time with that reform-rider in Central.”

“Yeah well, give it two years and he’s gonna be the new Director, just watch,” Jay says, cringing when a sharp pain shoots up his neck. “The fuck _is_ this shit? Help me up.”

Seeing that he’s strong enough to get up on his elbows on his own, Kay finally concedes and offers a hand to pull him up the rest of the way so he can sit on his ass and carefully rub out the kinks in his neck.

“Knocked me the fuck out,” he mutters. “Ruined my suit.”

Scowling down at the gray slime covering his chest, he pulls a hand through it in an effort to wipe it off.

“Maybe don’t do that,” Kay warns, but doesn’t insist when Jay glares at him, scooping up the gross substance and flicking it off his hand before wiping it down the side of his his already soiled jacket.

“Gonna kill that thing when I see it next time,” he says, and he’s only half sure he doesn’t actually mean it.

“Here’s something,” Kay interrupts his semi-murderous thoughts, pointing at his probe. “Zygote…”

Jay frowns, his head still feels foggy. “Psychic goat?”

“Oh damn,” Kay says, shaking his head. “These are trophoblast cells. Jay, I think she copied you.”

“She what?” Jay exclaims, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead when he stares at his partner.

“She’s Sirinial,” he explains, even though Jay is pretty sure he already knows what he’s going to say. “They procreate by kind of copying DNA, the process usually involves the– uh, non-consensual participation of the-”

“Fucker roofied me with her sex-goop!” Jay cuts him off indignantly, feeling dirtier by the second.

“Would seem that way,” Kay says with a sympathetic grimace. At least he knows well enough not to treat any of this as a joke.

“Fuck that wannabe-Russian _slime-whore_ ,” Jay spits, getting on his feet and pacing the narrow alley as he struggles to claw off his stained jacket and shirt. He’s soaked all the way through to his skin.

He wants to tear that off too.

“So fucking help me,” he vows, “I’m gonna catch that sick son of a bitch and throw her back into the black hole she came from, even if it kills me!”

 

 

August 2018

 

“You ever seen her that mad before?” Mandy asks, getting into the passenger side of their black Ford LTD, license plate proudly identifying it as MIBC 005. “You think we’re gonna be put on desk duty for a while?”

Mickey scoffs, getting in behind the wheel. 

“You maybe,” he says. “She knows you acted on your own, rookie.”

“Yeah, but,” Mandy insists, widening her eyes in unconvincing innocence. “You’re my senior, my mentor, my senpai. Surely your shitty guidance counts for something!”

“You destroyed thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment,” Mickey points out, suppressing a grin when she groans.

“But I caught the bad guy!”

“You just count yourself lucky James was here to be diplomatic on behalf of your gung-ho ass, sis,” he chuckles, driving up the long, narrow concrete ramp and out through the still cloaked exit. “From what he’s told me he knows what it’s like to make a terrible first impression on the job, so I’m sure he’ll convince Zaira to go easy on you.”

“First impression!” Mandy repeats, throwing up her hands. “I’ve been on the job over a year, and this is the first mistake I’ve made.”

Mickey decides to be generous and let her have that one, even though he probably could spend the rest of their ten minute drive reminding her of every wrong step she’s made since she started the program. Mistakes are part of learning though, and he’s finding out that he sometimes enjoys being nice to his sister almost as much as he does teasing her.

“Yeah, well, you’re a junior agent now,” he says instead. “It’s different.”

Staring out the window at the passing city landscape, Mandy remains uncharacteristically quiet for a couple of minutes and Mickey doesn’t push her. He likes the city at night, and easily settles into the companionable silence as he drives and lets her decompress.

“What would you have done?” she eventually asks, turning her head to look defiantly at him when her question comes out sounding more vulnerable than she most likely intended.

“Instead of decking the guy with the technological equivalent of a Ming vase?” he asks, smirking when he can tell that she’s rolling her eyes at him, turning away again. “Don’t know.”

“See,” she mutters, crossing her arms.

“Would’ve hit the silent alarm and let the agents in departure handle him,” Mickey continues before she gets it in her head that she’s won the argument, giving her question a serious answer this time. “Or moved into a more tactical position for a procedural arrest. Or, you know... used the million dollar piece of technological marvel as it was intended, by holding it by the holdy part and pointing at the guy with the shooty part, and pretending I’d know what would happen if I squeezed the triggery part.”

Mandy says nothing, and glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he catches her defeated expression before she ducks her head.

“But,” he says, absently digging his teeth into his bottom lip as he considers his answer for moment. “Standing where you were, given the time you had to make a decision... let’s fuckin’ face it, I would’ve decked the guy too, only I probably wouldn’t have thought about it long enough to use anything ‘cept my own damn forehead.”

“Whatever,” Mandy scoffs, but he doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s smiling. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

Closing in on Pearl’s he turns into the curb and parks, leaving the keys in the ignition as he gets out.

“Can’t believe I gotta listen to you,” Mandy says, closing her door and waiting for him to make his way around the car. “You look like Florida threw up on you.”

“Bitch, I look fly,” Mickey insists, taking his Hawaiian shirt for an extra spin as he steps up on the sidewalk. “Magnum PI all day.”

Mandy shakes her head as she gives his baggy jeans and floral shirt a critical once-over. 

“Did you get your head scrambled by some particularly nasty alien villain before I got recruited, or something?” she asks in mock sympathy, placing a hand on his shoulder as he comes up to her. “You can tell me.”

“Got it from good authority that I look sexy as fuck in this,” Mickey says, wiggling his eyebrows with a lewd smirk when her lips dip in displeasure and she takes her hand off him in disgust. “So rag on me all you want, bitch. I’m untouchable.”

“Untouchable is right,” Mandy agrees, shaking her hand as though to rid it of something dirty. “And your ‘good authority’ would say the same if you rocked up in nothing but your birthday suit, so I don’t think his opinion counts.”

“Oh, he does,” Mickey agrees smugly. “And I’d say his opinion is the only one that counts.”

Mandy groans and pulls him into a quick hug. 

“Gross,” she says, before pushing him away again.

Mickey laughs and takes a couple of steps back as he’s watching his sister move around the car to the driver’s side. The strict dress code had been the first to go after the bureau went public, but many agents had trouble kicking the habit. Mickey surprised everyone, most of all himself, by throwing himself at the first available thrift store and coming out in an explosion of prints, colors, and experimental layering. It was like he was a kid again, going through his brothers’ and cousins’ rejects, cutting off sleeves and making them his own. 

Mandy, like most rookies starting out, still insists on the suit.

“Work that black, Mands,” he calls out after her and grins when she gives him the finger over the hood of the car. “It’s adorable.”

She drives off without another word, and Mickey is still smiling to himself as he walks up to Pearl’s. The balmy August heat has left the streets as midnight came and went, but it’s still trapped within the small shop, hitting him like an invisible barrier when he steps through the door. There’s an overworked AC whirring by a back window, plastic flapping in the minimal breeze, and Pearl is half asleep in her chair behind the counter.

“Welcome back, Agent,” Alisha says, stepping out from one of the narrow aisles and moving around him to get in next to her mother. “Ça va?”

She is almost entirely green now, and her large eyes bug out as they swivel around to watch him when she walks through the shop. It fills him with a weird sort of pride to see her stepping out of her disguise, a little bit more herself each time he stops by for a refill, or for one of their mystery-meat hot dogs.

Moreish as fuck, those alien wieners.

“Sure,” he says, because the French is probably the only thing about her he’s never going to accept. “The usual?”

“Bien, un moment,” she says just to wind him up, for sure, disappearing through the pearl curtain out to the back stock with a smug smile.

“You getting into trouble?” he asks when she rings him up, pointedly eying the fresh cut on her hand as she’s reaching out to accept his money.

“Non,” she says and rolls her eyes when he holds on tighter to the bill. It’s an impressive sight, her species does teenager _very_ well. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Someone giving you trouble?” he tries instead, even though he thought it was fairly obvious that was what he meant before, too.

Snatching the money from his hand, Alisha turns away from him, eyes and all, as she stows it away in the register.

“Just a broken window, Agent,” she says. “Nothing we didn’t see before they knew exactly what kind of immigrant we really are.”

“Right,” Mickey reluctantly accepts the brown paper bag when she resolutely hands it over to him. The supplements rattle inside their bottles when he points the bag at her. “You change your mind, you know where we are.”

He doesn’t miss the way her glance quickly darts between him and her mom. She’s a proud lady, Pearl, and while she’s always been happy to deal with the MIB when most extras preferred to pretend they didn’t exist, she’s never been one to ask for favors.

“Harassment is a serious crime,” he says, hoping he sounds as trustworthy as he’s generally trying to be. “Someone fucks with you, you come to us.”

Alisha nods. 

“I’ll talk to her,” she says, the flaps on her cheeks fluttering pleasantly. “Merci.”

“You do that,” he decides to leave it, for now, dumping his change in one of the charity collection boxes next to a dusty rack of lollipops before he walks back out on the street.

His new place is only a five minute walk from Pearl’s, and it’s dark and quiet when he unlocks the door and dumps his keys in the handmade bowl on the hallway dresser, putting the bag of pills down next to it. Making his way through the apartment, he sticks his head in the bedroom to check on the still lump asleep under the covers, taking a moment just to watch it rise and fall with Ian’s steady breathing before moving on.

He’s grabbing himself a beer in the kitchen when he notices a faint light through the crack left open to the small study. Absently abandoning his plans to have a cold one and quietly watch some 2AM TV to take the edge off his long day, he puts the bottle back into the fridge and walks over to the study to gently rap his knuckles against the door.

A small shape scrambles over to the loveseat couch in the other end of the room when he’s slowly pushing the door open the rest of the way, just in time to see the covers settle down on the makeshift bed.

“Hey bud,” Mickey whispers, stepping into the room but not approaching the bed yet. “You awake?”

“No,” Yevgeny lies, making Mickey smile as he pulls out the desk chair and sits down, pretending to sigh.

“Too bad,” he laments, making sure to still keep his voice down. “‘Cause I can’t sleep and I was looking for someone to keep me company.”

“Why?” the lump asks, still suspicious.

“Don’t know,” Mickey says truthfully, rubbing at his lip as he tries to think of the right thing to say. “It’s dark and quiet, feeling kinda lonely with everyone asleep.”

The lump hesitates. “I have a night light.”

“It’s nice,” Mickey agrees, shaking his head at the plastic bunny by the door, filling the whole room with its soft pink glow. “I like it.”

“Ian bought it for me,” Yevgeny admits, the covers moving a little with his hands pushing up to make more space around his face. “I can take it with me when I go home.”

Suddenly overcome by the helpless feeling he’s carried with him since he brought Yevgeny home a week ago, Mickey rests his head in his hands and can’t come up with a single reassuring thing to say.

Yevgeny hasn’t cried once since they met. Not in detention, not in Mickey’s office, not once in the eight days he’s been an involuntary houseguest at their place. He barely said anything the first five days, and he has a hard time sleeping at night, but he hasn’t cried once.

That’s more than can be said for Mickey.

When he looks up, Yevgeny’s perfect little head is peeking up over the covers, his dark unruly hair framing his serious face as he seems to pin Mickey in place with his big and terribly familiar eyes.

“Have you seen my mom?” he asks, and Mickey can’t lie to him.

“Yeah,” he says, wiping at his nose. “Yeah, kid, I saw her this morning.”

“Is she okay?”

“She misses you,” Mickey carefully circumvents the question, looking down as he takes out his phone. “Got you something.”

He was brought to HQ on a Tuesday night, and had to stay at the detention center until morning when the test results came in and Mickey was brought in and told about their unexpected biological connection. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but not having heard anything from Svetlana in over five years he’d somehow managed to repress the unpleasant memory of their last encounter. It helped that the Doc had assured him the risk of a successful merge coming out of the slimy violation was slim to none.

He’d never had much luck with statistics, though.

Although looking at this wondrous little person, he’s not sure if he gives a shit about luck anymore. Life very obviously just happens, and he can try and fight it or decide to run with it.

“What is it?” Yevgeny asks, waiting with impressive patience for Mickey to get his shit together and fork it over.

“It’s a message,” he says, setting the ten minute recording on repeat and turning the volume down low, before locking the phone and handing it over. “Here.”

Yevgeny reaches out from under the covers to grab the phone in both hands, turning on his side and staring reverently at the blank screen when his mother’s voice starts playing. 

Mickey stays in the room long enough to make sure that the message doesn’t have a bad reaction, and then he sits on the floor right next to the kid’s door for another half hour, listening to the message play over and over, and over again, until he peeks inside to find Yevgeny fast asleep with the phone still loosely gripped in his hands.

Mickey leaves it in there with him, and goes to get ready for bed.

Turning off the lights in the bathroom, he feels his way through the dark apartment to the bedroom, blindly undoing the buttons on his shirt as he quietly moves around the bed.

“Hey,” Ian’s sleep-addled voice comes from the bunched up covers, and Mickey can only barely make out his face in the dark when he turns and scoots over to make room.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Mickey whispers, quickly taking off the rest of his clothes so he can crawl under the covers and into Ian’s welcoming arms.

“Been waiting for you,” Ian mumbles contently as they fit themselves together, Mickey resting his head in the crook of his shoulder and hugging an arm across his chest. “Good day?”

“Long,” Mickey sighs, keeping it short. He can tell him more about Mandy’s minor disaster in the morning.

Ian’s warm skin practically vibrates against the side of his face when he hums in agreement. “Yev?”

“He’s asleep,” Mickey reports, wincing. “Now, anyway. Gave him a message from his mom, think it helped.”

Ian doesn’t immediately react at the mention of Svetlana, but he’s definitely more awake now, his long fingers absently drawing patterns on Mickey’s shoulder.

“How was she?” he asks, only a slight tension in his voice betraying his wildly negative feelings toward Yevgeny’s mom.

“Realistic,” Mickey says, thinking about it. “Best case she’s looking at 15 years in pen, worst case they’ll hand her off to Sirini and have ‘em decide what to do with her.”

Ian sucks in a quick breath. Like her or not, sending her to a whole different solar system doesn’t seem like the best solution for anyone. Least of all her poor kid.

“Says she’s gonna plead guilty and do whatever she can to stay on Earth,” Mickey sighs, reluctant to repeat the next part out loud. “Says she wants me to look after him.”

Ian is quiet for a moment, and Mickey almost forgets how to breathe while he waits for a reaction. 

When he’d brought the kid home, Ian hadn’t hesitated a second. He’d called in favors and taken time off both work and campaigning to make sure at least one of them would be around while Mickey attended endless meetings with lawyers and social workers. His unconditional support is pretty much the only thing that has kept Mickey sane through the whole thing, but they haven’t really had the time or energy to talk about what any of it is going to mean for _them_.

By the way he talks about his own adoptive family, it doesn’t come as a surprise that Ian would drop everything to help this kid, but Mickey knows he has no right expecting him to be _okay_ with any of it – or stick around when this temporary situation inevitably turns permanent.

It’s a lot to ask of a guy, and Mickey wouldn’t even know where to start. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Ian asks, and the simple question is enough to immediately untangle some of Mickey’s nerves.

“No,” he groans and smiles into Ian’s skin when he feels him chuckle silently. 

He’s been avoiding thinking about this all week but now, here – warm and safe and with Ian asking him to talk about it – it suddenly doesn’t feel so impossible.

“He’s like–, undeniably my kid,” he admits out loud, for the first time. “Can’t change what happened, so I guess what I gotta decide now is if I wanna take responsibility for him or not.”

Ian says nothing, but Mickey can swear he feels him smiling.

“What?”

“Just–,” Ian says, his soothing fingers abandoning Mickey’s shoulder to slowly comb through his hair instead. “Think you already made your mind up about that one the moment you decided to bring him home.”

Frowning at the thought, Mickey wonders if Ian feels any resentment towards him for not consulting him first. He’d never thought of it as a decision, he just knew it was the only thing he could do.

“Shit,” he says, swallowing when his thoughts starts racing again with all the mindless doubt and fear he feels at the thought of screwing this up. He couldn’t do any of this without Ian around, that is the only thing he knows for sure. “What do you think?”

Ian sighs, and Mickey wants to kick him in the shin when he takes way too long coming up with an answer. But he doesn’t, he knows better than to rush his boyfriend when he has something important to say. It’s usually worth the wait.

“I think he’s a great kid,” Ian starts, turning his head a little so Mickey can feel his lips move against his forehead when he speaks. “He looks like you.”

Mickey wants to deny it, but it’s true. And it’s fucking surreal, but he kinda doesn’t hate it.

“I think I already love him,” Ian says, like it’s easy, smiling warmly into Mickey’s frown. “And I think that if the day comes when his mom is able to take care of him again, it’s gonna kill me if we have to give him up, but…”

Mickey swallows over the lump in his throat as he waits for Ian to put words to what’s already happening.

“Right now, your son needs a loving home,” he decides. “And we can give him one.”

Not knowing what to say, and feeling very much like there is nothing left to say, Mickey detaches himself from Ian’s embrace just enough to get on top of him. His eyes have had time to adjust to the dark, and his full heart beats faster at the sight of Ian’s sincere face and cocky smile waiting on him to make a move.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” Mickey vows and grins into the kiss when Ian picks up his head just enough to capture his lips and tease Mickey back down with him.

Cupping Ian’s face with his hands, he opens his mouth to let him in as he slowly grinds their bodies together, waking up a little more with each roll of his hips. Feeling Ian’s palms move up the back of his thighs and grab on to his ass, he knows it’s coming when he’s flipped on his back and pulled down the bed until he is completely covered by Ian’s body, rocking slowly into him. Smiling into their deepened kiss, he shivers when he feels the cold weight of Ian’s contract fall back onto his chest and across his collarbone, the chain pulling lightly over his neck when it rolls off him and hits the mattress.

Not looking to waste any time on foreplay right now, Mickey lets Ian settle between his legs and spreads his thighs in an impatient invitation to get going on the main event. Groaning into the kiss, Ian doesn’t break it for a second as he gets a hand down between them, his hard cock dragging over Mickey’s as he lets more of his weight down and his fingers find their way inside.

They’re sticky and wonderful, teasing and quickly slicking him up before they’re pulled out and replaced by Ian’s cock, pushing at his entrance until Mickey feels himself open up around it.

“Fuck yeah,” he sighs, dropping his head back as he angles his hips to meet Ian’s slow push, encouraging him to immediately pull out and sink back in. “Missed you.”

Feeling Ian let out a measured breath against his cheek, Mickey turns his head to find his mouth again as Ian starts rolling his body in a steady rhythm, his cock thick and warm and not nearly far enough inside him.

Ian must think so too, because it isn’t long before he’s got one arm hooked under Mickey’s knee to bend him and find a better angle, thrusting deeper and faster as he’s reaching for his release. Mickey isn’t there yet, but he doesn’t have it in him to protest when he’s looking up at Ian’s face as he lets go of everything for him, eyes closed in bliss and his parted lips still shining wet, and something new is coiling up around Mickey’s thighs.

Teeth digging into his lip, Mickey knows he should say something. But the light pressure of Ian’s suckers latching on to the sensitive skin on the inside of his legs only adds to the rapidly building fireworks of pleasure caused by his cock, and Mickey never wants him to stop. Slowly winding around his other leg and creeping up his stomach, Ian’s extra limbs clamp on to him and hold him in place as Ian frantically picks up his pace and drives into him, inching them both closer to the edge.

Wrapped up in the moment, Mickey can’t resist touching a hand to the large, warm tentacle slowly squeezing itself around his thigh, and he shivers when he feels the strong, unfamiliar body part move under his palm.

But Ian immediately stutters and stops at his touch, breathing heavily as he hides his face in Mickey’s shoulder. He’s never allowed himself to get this far before, always re-gaining enough control to keep his camo in check while he gets them off, in one way or another. And maybe it’s selfish and most likely a very bad idea, but Mickey doesn’t want him to hold back anymore. He wants all of him, see all of him and feel all of him, and make him know that he is free to be himself when they are together.

“Don’t,” he whispers into Ian’s ear, hoping he isn’t pushing him in some way he doesn’t want to go. He is still breathing heavily, and he’s still hard and throbbing inside him, as Mickey carefully ghosts a hand over one of the long, squirming limbs refusing to disappear. A shiver ripples through his body, encouraging Mickey to put his hand down completely and slowly trace the unfamiliar shape of Ian’s other form.

“Told you,” he says, swallowing as the feeling of finally getting to touch Ian like this goes straight to his cock, aching for release. “I like it.”

Ian moans into his shoulder but still doesn’t move, so Mickey huffs and rolls them over, Ian’s dick slipping out of him for a second before he sits down on it again, reaching back to guide it back inside and feel the length of it disappear as he takes him in.

“Look at me,” he says, watching Ian’s frown smooth out and his lips part as his tentacles grow up around them and Mickey slowly starts riding him back to the edge.

Finally doing as he’s asked, Ian’s eyes are dark with pleasure when he stares up at Mickey, wrapped up in a part of him no one else has ever been allowed to know. He must like it, because the sight of it makes him buck up and Mickey feels his whole body go limp with pleasure when he hits him just right.

“Love it,” he gasps, Ian’s tentacles tightening around him as he’s firmly held in place to take Ian’s cock, steadily pushing up inside him. “Fucking love it, Ian. Love you so much.”

He’s barely got the words out before Ian is coming, fucking erratically into his dripping hole until Mickey follows, his bouncing cock not needing any more encouragement than that to shoot its load across Ian’s convulsing stomach.

Coming down, Ian’s tentacles slowly release him from their grip and allows them to collapse in a sticky heap, a soft succession of popping sounds filling the bedroom as the suction cups detach from Mickey’s skin.

“Holy fuck,” he laughs breathlessly once he’s got his brain and body sufficiently pieced back together again, flopping to the side to sprawl out next to Ian. “That’s gonna leave a mark. Or a hundred.”

“Sorry,” Ian says, and he doesn’t sound nearly as self-satisfied as he fucking well has earned after all that.

This is probably one of those things they should have talked about _before_ literally releasing the kraken in the bedroom – knowing how Ian feels about maintaining his self-control at all times – but they also just had their most spectacular sex to date, and regret is the last thing Mickey wants feel right now.

“Fuck sorry,” he decides, twisting to lie on his side and returning his full attention to Ian’s worried face, his clear eyes following his every movement as Mickey pulls up the covers and shuffles in close. “It’s part of you. You never gotta apologize to me for being yourself.”

Ian frowns, clearly unconvinced.

“Jesus,” Mickey rolls his eyes, wondering how he could possibly make it _more_ obvious that Ian has his absolute enthusiastic consent to get his cephlapoidic freak on, whenever he’s up for it, “did it seem like I wasn’t fucking enjoying myself?”

“Maybe if–,” Ian says, biting his lip over a slight smile before wincing uncomfortably. “What if we had a safe word?”

The suggestion takes Mickey by surprise. He hasn’t once felt unsafe with Ian since they started hooking up, and he sees no reason to start now. “The fuck for?”

Ian huffs, his jaw tensing.

“If I’m hurting you,” he says, the corners of his mouth dipping in displeasure. “Or if… if I feel like I can’t find my way back.”

Biting back his initial response, wanting to dismiss any fears Ian might have as irrational and pointless, Mickey takes a second to remember the precious few things Ian has told him about his past life. They don’t show on his human skin, but Mickey knows the scars are many and run deep.

“You’re worried about that?”

Ian ducks his head, but Mickey can feel him smile into his touch when he puts a hand to his cheek, stroking the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin under his eye.

One day he hopes Ian will feel like he can tell him everything, but until then he’s happy giving him whatever he needs to feel safe.

“How about ‘Squidward’?” he suggests, mightily pleased with himself when he feels Ian’s cheek move under his palm with his widened smile. “Or is that offensive?”

“Mick,” Ian tries to warn against making this into a joke, but sounds entirely too fond for it to be very effective.

“Okay, I get it,” Mickey says, gently tapping his fingertips against Ian’s cheekbone in thought. “So we’ll do code. 10-92.”

Ian tilts his head back again, happiness crinkled in the corners of his eyes. “What’s that for?”

“Improperly parked vehicle.”

Ian snorts out a laugh, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to stifle it, and Mickey smiles wide in relief to see the worry finally pass from his face.

“What’s the code for ‘I love you’?” he asks.

Mickey frowns, pretending to think about it. “Shockingly not something widely expressed in the police force.”

Still smiling, Ian puts his hand on top of Mickey’s to keep it in place when he says; “I love you.”

Half sitting up so he can lean over and hover his face above Ian’s, Mickey gives him an encouraging nod.

“10-9.”

Ian shakes his head, his smile widening and their noses bumping. “I love you.”

“10-4,” Mickey confirms and seals it with a kiss.

 

 

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**Author's Note:**

> [10-30](https://copradar.com/tencodes/mgeneral.html)


End file.
